Dark Shines
by BlackNymph
Summary: You want to be the one in control, you want to be the one who's alive, you want to be the one who gets old. It's not a matter of luck it's just a matter of time. Series of Organization centric crossovers, previously 'Matter of Luck, Matter of Time'
1. Matter of Luck, Matter of Time

Ten grit his teeth in an uncharacteristic show of agitation. He and this stranger had played every game known to the Nobody, from poker to rummy to goldfish, from chess to backgammon to Monopoly (both deluxe and Star Wars editions), and even such games as darts and horseshoes. They had been going at it for hours upon hours, and had indeed started this little contest early yesterday morning.

And there was yet to be a winner.

Games had been finished, dragged on and absolutely never abandoned, and each one had inevitably ended in a tie, a draw, a stalemate, an impasse.

Several times, Luxord had surreptitiously summoned a Gambler or a Dusk or some other low-level Nobody to see if the other man was cheating, and each time the man had smiled his mysterious smile and the air about them crackled with energy as Luxord's minions were swallowed by the shadows.

Perhaps this man was a Nobody as well? But no, the other's occasional reliance on what he called "the heart of the game" suggested otherwise. No self-respecting Nobody would toss about the word 'heart' or any implications thereof so carelessly.

Shuffling his deck of cards again, Luxord watched the man with calculating blue eyes; the man watched him with the same cunning scrutiny in his crimson eyes. Donning an appropriate visage of haughty indifference, he asked, "So then, what game shall be our tiebreaker?"

"Whatever game you would like to play." And there was that confidence, that absolute, infallible confidence radiating from his words, his posture, his plays, him. If he were a weaker man, Luxord would have been unnerved by it; he supposed this is what his opponents felt when the faced him.

Flipping a card over, the blonde man grinned back at the Jack of Spades; he flashed it quickly to the other man, who also grinned, a tad smugly.

"Twenty-one it is. Best of three?"

"Of course."

The cards were dealt. Luxord smirked at his ten and his six, hitting himself with a four.

"Hit." Ten obliged; the King of Hearts. His opponent nodded, and they both flipped their cards.

Ten, six, four; eight, two, King. Twenty.

And the next round: five, five, Queen; ten, Jack. Twenty.

Nine, Ace; seven, three, Queen. Twenty.

The stranger stood, grinning that same grin he always did, and paid for his drink. "Looks like it's not in the cards for you today."

"Nor for you, I see," Luxord responded, standing as well, tucking one arm under the other while he raised his hand to prop his chin up.

"You could say that; but I didn't lose."

"Nor I."

Shaking his head and looking amused, as though what Luxord had said was some inside-joke that never ceased to be funny, the strange man turned and headed to the exit of the bar.

Grinning his own facetious grin and calling a portal to darkness, Ten called, "Same time tomorrow?"

The man turned back to face him, bowing formally at the hip; his eyes glittered as he returned, "Of course," before exiting the pub.


	2. Sweet Girl Scout's Face

The reception was not as lavish as Larxene was of course expecting. Indeed, when she had anticipated open arms and ears, she found herself being shot at.

She giggled, the fact all too amusing as she darted between the columns decorating the foyer, nimbly evading the bullets streaking through the air as though they were paper airplanes; the silly little men seemed to notice that their guns were ineffectual, and that regardless she was getting closer.

Now, Larxene hadn't the slightest of what they thought to accomplish with those ridiculous looking nightsticks, but it was quite a pleasant surprise to see that they emitted an electric charge on contact; the men, fierce and intimidating though they obviously thought themselves, were felled quickly upon this realization.

Crossing the remaining ten feet of the foyer, and deliberately treading on the redhead's fingers along the way, she threw open the large oak doors separating her from her target haughtily, striding across the room and seating herself at his desk, feet immediately placed on the polished wood surface.

Seconds later, the woman found herself staring both into eyes not unlike her own and down the barrel of a twelve-gauge; she smirked, and he mimicked the action.

"I do hope you didn't think that my body guards would have been your only roadblock."

A snort. "Of course not, Mister President. What kind of idiot do you think I am?"

The question was left hanging as the stand-off continued, neither moving so much as an inch from their guard. No matter; she was in no hurry to get this job done, and if necessary, the Superior would certainly allow her the extra time. It was he, this Shinra that needed the haste. Larxene knew this, and simply continued smirking pleasantly at him.

She saw him cock the gun, hearing the click and barely restraining the urge to roll her eyes. "Have you ever seen the after effects of a shotgun shot at point blank range, miss?" His tone mirrored his expression, calm and only the slightest bit chilly. One would have thought they were discussing the weather.

Her response was a small sigh, raising her hand daintily, and curling each finger down save her index; instantaneously, a single kunai materialized, point down, on the tip of her finger. She balanced it there for a moment before flicking it upwards, catching it, and twirling it deftly in her fingers; another moment passed, and before he could say anything, the kunai had been lodged inside one of the barrels of his gun.

The smirk remained on her face. "Have you ever seen the after-effects of a gun fired with blockage, Mister President?"

His smirk faltered only somewhat as he returned his firearm to his side, surveying her intently, as though not believing that she was real. After a moment of silence (though it seemed far too long), he took a seat in the chair before his desk, propping his elbows on the desk as though he was sitting in his proper position, and finally asked, "What do you want?"

Larxene simpered at the question, batting her eyelashes coyly. "I thought you'd never ask, Mr. President, sir." After making a show of unzipping the front of her coat and digging around in the breast pocket, she handed him an official looking stack of parchment. "A proposition, from the Organization."

The blonde man took the sheaf of papers and unfolded it primly, his lips pressed in a thin line as he scanned the document; his eyes narrowed with each passing line, and he eventually raised his gaze back to the woman smirking at him.

"You want me to give you my heart," he said slowly; he glanced back at the paper before adding incredulously, "So you can open a portal to your chosen land."

The Savage Nymph looked as though she were enjoying herself supremely; indeed, her expression was like the cat that had gotten the cream. "You don't have to give it up right away," she said, grinning cheekily. "You can wait a while and taint it so that you don't technically die – that's really up to you. It's no use looking at me like that, sir, we're going to be getting your heart either way," she added at his glare.

Slowly, he stood, hefting his shotgun back into his grip, and as calm as Larxene had ever seen anyone, he raised it above his head and brought it down in one motion; the motion splintered the desk considerably, and broke off her kunai. Blockage now gone, he raised the gun to his shoulder, aiming it directly at her. "You have ten seconds to leave my office, miss."

Standing as well, Larxene crossed her arms over her chest, sniffing haughtily. "Tsk, tsk." A step, a flash, and she was back out the door, calling over her shoulder, "I'll be back in a week for your answer, Mister President."


End file.
